A Walk in Eternity
by BlackBlade0001
Summary: Sometimes doing the right thing has terrible consequences, as Harry finds out. Trapped out of his time, with nowhere to belong and no one to understand him, who should he meet but Captain Jack Harkness? Better summary inside. AU and Slash, be warned.
1. The War that Ends, The War that Begins

**Walk In Eternity**

**Chapter One:**The War that Ends, The War that Begins

**By** BlackBlade

**Disclaimer:** I do _NOT_, and sadly probably never will, own Harry Potter, Torchwood or Doctor Who, nor am I profiting in any way shape or form from this _entirely fictional_ story involving the characters in the aforementioned Book/Series. Thank you.

**Summary:** Even after the War with Voldemort was over and done with, everyone had lost, everything Harry knew and loved had been destroyed and so he resorts to a very complicated and dangerous bit of magic in order to save the world. He goes back in time, trying to prevent the whole War from ever happening. Of course, after everything is done and over with, he is still stuck in the past with no way back and who should he meet there but a certain Captain Jack Harkness?

* * *

There was smoke everywhere. It was stinging his eyes, impairing his vision, and severely irritating his throat and lungs, making the usually simple act of breathing a complicated chore. He had also received a rather severe blow to the head earlier on (he probably had a concussion now) that was making him dizzy and unfocused. All in all, not the best condition ever to try and save his own life, never mind keep fighting for that of others.

If he focused enough through the dizziness that came with the aforementioned concussion and lack of clean oxygen, he could still hear the sound of battle all around him; he could hear allies and enemies alike dying everywhere, he could hear the chaos and the screams and the sound of War. He didn't want to focus.

He closed his eyes and peacefully gave in to the closing darkness, losing consciousness in a middle of the battlefield.

* * *

_Everything was lost. There was nothing but ruins now, the smoldering ruins of a society had had become stagnant, that had let itself become obsolete and die out…painfully. Dead bodies still littered the crumbling corridors of what once was the finest magical school in the world. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had fallen, and with it had gone many of its students, past and present alike._

_He was now the only one left still stumbling through the dangerous warzone, everyone else had left hours before, when it became obvious that there were no survivors left and that the ruins of Hogwarts were hazardous enough to probably claim more lives if they didn't evacuate. He didn't care. If he died in the school then that was all well and good by him; but more than that, he still had the vaguest, faintest hint of hope that something could be done, that it didn't have to be like this, that it hadn't been all for nothing._

_Oh, they had 'won' the War. Voldemort was dead, his Horcruxes long since destroyed, his army completely obliterated. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were no more, but there was no way that it could really be considered a victory, not when the cost had been so horrifyingly high. _

_Hundreds and then thousands had fallen, fighting on either side of the war but losses of life nonetheless, just as many had fled the country in fear and panic, probably never to return. There was still no way to count the dead and missing, not enough people left to complete such a massive job, nowhere near enough. Villages and buildings had been razed to the ground; The Ministry of Magic had been one of the first to fall, it was now nothing but an empty husk, abandoned and uninhabitable; Hogsmeade had been burnt down, completely erased from the map along with most of its inhabitants; Hogwarts had been last, but its death had been the most…the most terribly magnificent thing anyone present had ever seen._

_So many dead._

_Friends and family and neighbors and even strangers for whom he mourned now, though he wasn't actually giving himself the time to properly mourn. He couldn't because he knew that if he stopped now, then he would never be able to move again, too broken from everything, too broken to do anything._

_He couldn't stop and weep for them, not now, but that didn't stop his mind from remembering each and every one of their faces even as he tried so hard to forget and just focus on_ moving, moving on, not stopping. _But they were so many, so, so many and he was just one. The only one left._

_He had tried so very, very hard and still, he had utterly failed._

_But there was no time to stop now, no time to remember, or to let the guilt and the pain eat away at him, though he would be perfectly happy to wallow in his own misery later on, when he had the time. He moved through the ruins of his beloved school, climbing the crumbling staircases with about as much care as someone with a death wish, not stopping to spare a glance at the shattered statue lying at the bottom of said stairs, he didn't want to see any more familiar things broken and crumbling._

_When he finally reached his destination, he resolutely kept his eyes away from anything but what he needed to see…_who _he needed to see._

"_Professor" He said as way of greeting._

_The blue eyes that he was so used to see twinkling at him from behind half-moon spectacles looked dull and aged even beyond their hundred and fifty something years. He would like to think that it was simply because a painting could never be exactly like the actual person, but he knew better than to delude himself like that._

"_Harry" The portrait answered, and it seemed that even a portrait knew better than to try and make small talk with him right now, for the painted Headmaster looked just as grave and serious as his half-dead ex-student felt._

"_So…what's the plan, then? There's always a back-up plan with you"_

_There was._

* * *

_It had taken him two whole years of hard work, but finally "the plan" was coming together nicely. Well, it would have actually taken him a little bit less than that, but he had been very reluctant at first, and it was a couple of months before desperation and hopelessness had finally pushed him to following Dumbledore's directions once more. _

_Those few months of stubbornness had been spent trying to salvage whatever was left of his world, helping the injured, bringing down the scarce remains of Voldemort's followers, trying to rebuilt something out of ashes. It had been futile._

_There were so very few witches and wizards left in Britain, so much chaos and such a noticeable lack of order, government, hospitals and even education that the few that remained had been forced to seek refuge in other countries. For all intents and purposed, the British Wizarding World was dead._

_It was that realization that had pushed Harry towards trying to work with the Chronos Project. This project had originally been started by the Unspeakables many years ago, but they had deemed it too unstable and dangerous to even continue research, never mind experimentation. Most copies of any document and data concerning that project had been destroyed, except for a few that had been kept in the very heart of the Department of Mysteries. Harry didn't know exactly how Dumbledore knew of such a secret project and such classified documents, but he was also not going to ask. He had gone to the now abandoned Department of Mysteries, one of the last places he ever wanted to see again in his life, and, following his Headmaster's directions, stolen the Chronos Project documents._

_After that the work had only just begun. The Chronos Project was indeed a very unstable bit of very complicated magic, and it had taken the Unspeakables years to come up with the few advances they had. Of course, the Unspeakables hadn't had Albus Dumbledore (even if in a portrait) to help them out, and they had also had to mind a lot of safety issues that Harry didn't bother himself with. All in all, working all day and sometimes half the night, it took them two years to finally complete the Project._

_The end result was a series of extremely complicated runes carved in a perfect circle in the wall; the runes had been fed a huge amount of magic during the full moon (that had almost killed Harry due to magic depletion) and been filled with Time Sand, which was the golden dust commonly found in time turners, and only in time turners. That had required yet another trip to the Department of Mysteries (and a lot of grumbling on Harry's part) to collect the necessary amount. After filling them, he'd had to seal the now golden runes with a potion that solidified into a clear substance akin to crystal very quickly; that had also taken quite a bit of time, as the potion had to be perfect and Harry's potion-making skills were not legendary by any stretch of the imagination._

_Two years of work and now here he was, ready to take the step that would maybe perhaps give him a chance to save the world. It wasn't exactly a very reliable plan, but it was the only thing he had, and he would see it though, one way or another._

"_Harry?" Called the voice of the painted Headmaster._

_The young man's green eyes turned towards him, but Harry didn't speak._

"_Just…" The Headmaster seemed unable to speak for a moment, his whole face reflecting the inner pain and conflict that the man could never express in words. He sighed and seemed to give up on what Harry knew would be an attempt to rid the young man from his guilt and shame. They both knew it would be useless._

_Harry turned away again, his eyes now firmly staring into what appeared to be a gaping hole in the wall, framed by the glowing golden runes he had spent so long creating. The inside of the rune circle was some sort of portal, but all he could see through it was darkness, nothingness. It wasn't exactly a reassuring sight, but it was also nowhere near frightening enough to stop the determined wizard._

"_I am very sorry, Harry" _

_Those were the last words Harry Potter heard before he stepped into the dark portal, never to return. The golden runes flashed brightly as Harry stepped though and then, with a deafening sound the likes of which Dumbledore had never heard before, its magic reached a critical point and the whole thing exploded, along with the wall, and the office and the tower. _

_No one was there to see it._

* * *

_The Project had worked. The Temporal Portal had dropped him off in 1936, in the same office he had left in 2002, fortunately in the middle of the night. He had left Hogwarts, now whole and perfect again, as quickly and silently as he could, aided by the years of running around the castle after curfew. He had walked all the way to Hogsmeade, aided by his beloved invisibility cloak, and then apparated away from Scotland._

_It was three days later that he found himself in the dreary building that was Wool's Orphanage, speaking with the Matron there and requesting to see a boy whom he had 'recently discovered the possibility of being a relative to'. The woman had seemed more than happy at the chance that she might get rid of said boy, who apparently was quite a bit of trouble, and sent someone to fetch him immediately._

_Harry had taken one glance at the child, so young and full of potential but with eyes that clearly displayed maliciousness and a touch of smug slyness. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes on the boy for more than a couple of seconds. He had then requested that the Matron allow him to speak to his young 'possible nephew' alone and, as soon as the woman turned her back, he took out his wand and obliviated her. They left before the confused expression left her face, her memories of the last hour or so now completely gone from her mind.  
_

_Tom Riddle had watched with awed and greedy eyes this clear example of magic before eagerly following his 'uncle' out the orphanage, chattering on about how he always knew he was special and different and this proved that he was better than the other children in the institution, a magic child. Harry only explained the bare essentials as he led the boy away, speaking parseltongue once much to the delight of said boy. He told Tom about how 'their family' was very rich and powerful, and that now that he'd been found he would live like a prince and have everything he ever wanted. Needless to say, the boy was ecstatic and showed the first signs of childish behavior that Harry had ever seen. Even as he explained apparition and took the boy on the decidedly uncomfortable trip, Tom kept smiling; even as they landed on a dense forest, Tom kept smiling; it wasn't until Harry raised his wand at him that Tom dropped the smile._

_Harry Potter was a man who got rid of the monsters, even if he ended up being a monster himself._

* * *

Hours later he woke up in what he had by now come to recognize as a hospital, the smell of antiseptic and medicine was a dead giveaway, and the sound of pained moans and screams was also a bit of a clue. Damn, he'd really been shot down then.

He groaned, raising a hand to his head only to feel the bandage tightly wrapped there, he had probably been bleeding. His whole body was sore and aching, his head was pounding, his throat was sore and parched and he was positively pissed at finding himself in such a state. He hated hospitals.

"Flight Lieutenant Evans?" A voice on his right called.

His green eyes opened slowly to take in the sight of the young officer standing near his bed, a piece of paper nervously clutched in his hand.

"Yes, what is it?" Harry answered.

The boy, he couldn't have been more than eighteen, probably a new recruit now that he thought about it, squirmed a bit under the intense gaze of his superior officer for a moment, clearly uncomfortable before squaring his shoulders and gathering his wits about him. Harry found it a bit amusing, that the kid was so obviously unnerved by the decidedly awful environment that was the hospital when he would probably end up in one of these beds sooner or later. He had to force the rather morose thoughts away and focus on the kid again.

"New orders arrived for you from London just now, sir, and they want to know when you'll be ready to move out?" The boy said, losing his nerve a bit at the end to make a question instead of the statement Harry was sure it was supposed to be.

The green-eyed man considered for a moment, casting a calculating look around him before turning back to the messenger.

"You get me out of this place and I'll be ready in one hour." He stated, sparing one moment to try and figure out what it said about him that he'd rather go back out there than stay in a hospital to rest and recover.

Ah, well…time to go back to War.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So yeah, this is just the first chapter but I feel it's a good start to explaining this story. I considered writing this in several chapters, more detailed as the war with Voldemort end, the Chronos Project and Harry's trip back in time, but I felt that would be more tedious not just to write but to read so I went with the flashbacks instead.

And just to explain in case it got a bit confusing, what with the flashbacks and all, at the beginning of the chapter Harry was in the middle of a battle, his plane had been shot down and he was caught in the wreckage, he goes unconscious and starts remembering the things that brought him where he is now, hence the flashbacks. There are still pieces missing from his story, which we will see in future chapters as they become relevant and the like.

So, what do you think about it? Is it good? Bad? Please don't ever write anything like this again? Let your thoughts and opinions be known by clicking on that wonderful little button known as '_Review this Chapter_'.

Also, I'm looking for a Beta for this story, preferably someone who can help me with the history and military bits, so if you or anyone you know might be interested please let me know! Thank you.


	2. Captain Jack Harkness

**Walk In Eternity**

**Chapter Two:**Captain Jack Harkness

**By** BlackBlade

**Disclaimer:** I do _NOT_, and sadly probably never will, own Harry Potter, Torchwood or Doctor Who, nor am I profiting in any way shape or form from this _entirely fictional_ story involving the characters in the aforementioned Book/Series. Thank you.

**Summary:** Even after the War with Voldemort was over and done with, everyone had lost, everything Harry knew and loved had been destroyed and so he resorts to a very complicated and dangerous bit of magic in order to save the world. He goes back in time, trying to prevent the whole War from ever happening. Of course, after everything is done and over with, he is still stuck in the past with no way back and who should he meet there but a certain Captain Jack Harkness?

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, I guess from the title of this chapter you can pretty much guess who Harry's meeting now. Just a head's up…it might not be what you think ;D

* * *

**December 1940 – Undisclosed Location**

After his brief stint in the hospital, he had received orders to travel back to London. He had been confused at first because the rest of his squadron had received no such order and were to stay in position until further notice; his confusion of course had, while not completely ceased, been ignored after he had been told the order came from very high up, namely the Air Marshal in this case. That had quieted down any possible protest and Harry had proceeded to pack up and fly back home.

The peaceful flight, so very different from the usual chaos and mayhem of battle he was now getting used to, gave him a bit too much time to think about things he would rather not think about

* * *

_It was done._

_He had fulfilled his duty, his destiny or whatever other idiotic name it could possibly be called. It was done, over with, finished. Now what?_

_Harry would have been perfectly content to find some remote cabin or cave in which to hole himself up, cry for his losses and the miserable wreck that was his life, and eventually die. There was only one tiny little problem with that plan of his…he couldn't die._

_Oh, it was nothing noble like 'I can't die because I could still do so much for the world' or even something selfish like 'I can't die after everything I've been through, I deserve to live'. Not at all, it was the simple, proven and undisputable fact that he couldn't die, he was physically incapable of it._

_This fascinating little piece of news had been discovered years ago, when he was still fighting a war that could never be won. The first time he got hit with a Killing Curse and just got up, very much in pain but alive, he had been positively freaked out but had eventually convinced himself it was just luck and the curse had probably not been cast right; after the third time he miraculously walked away from some should-have-been-fatal encounter, it became obvious that something had happened to him._

_Back then he hadn't known what it was; he hadn't even considered the Deathly Hallows because the Elder Wand was still in Voldemort's possession. Months later he would find that the wand had been his ever since he had 'won' it from Draco Malfoy. He was the Master of Death and that apparently meant Death couldn't or wouldn't take him. At the time it had of course been considered an excellent advantage, an edge over his enemies that could mean victory._

_At the time, he had been hopelessly naïve._

_He couldn't die, yes, but everyone else could. Day after day he had lost friends while he remained alive. Years later, he would also find that he not only remained alive, but unchanged, forever the same as when he first gathered all three Hallows. He was going to be a 22 year old forever. Fate hated him._

_Well, at least that little detail he could hide rather easily. The last few years he had simply modified his appearance to look older, applying a subtle glamour charm to himself once every year. He knew it was now something he would have to do for the rest of his life if he ever wanted to stay in the same place for more than a couple of years, but the hassle of it as worth whatever bit of stability he could get in his life. _

_Anyways, he was trapped out of his time, unchanging, undying and with nothing to do with himself but slowly go mad from grief and pain and heartache. He couldn't allow that either, he was simply much too dangerous to go insane; who knew what an insane immortal wizard could do to the world…Well, he did know, and he had no intention of ending up like Voldemort._

_So, after months of wandering around aimlessly and almost losing his mind, he had finally given up, walked to the nearest recruitment office and promptly enlisted himself in the Royal Air Force. He supposed he could have found himself a place in the Wizarding World, even in this time, but he was nowhere near ready to see, much less interact with people he knew to be dead and buried, hence his decision to go muggle for the time being._

_It had been 1937 when he joined and he had planned on staying with the RAF for just a couple of years, just until before WWII started, just until he could deal with his issues. Needless to say, Harry's plans never go as they should._

_He had stayed. There were a number of reasons for this but the main two were that 1) He was still no closer to dealing with his wizard-related issues and wanted nothing to do with that world for the rest of his life if possible and 2) he had found a place to belong in the RAF._

_Harry was pretty sure that he had simply been part of a war for much too long to feel comfortable as anything but a soldier, and so he had found himself settling comfortably first in training and then as an active member of the RAF. When it was time for the War to start, Harry, by then known as Flying Officer Harrison Evans had already developed too much loyalty to the military and his comrades to abandon them just before their hour of need, so he had stayed._

_He had been one of the many pilots to participate in what was known as the Battle of Britain, flying his beloved Spitfire with a skill that many of his mates envied, most of them thought Harry flew more naturally than a bloody bird. Harry himself didn't know if his skill was something that carried over from his Quidditch player days or if he was simply a natural enough flier to be good in both a broom and a plane, but he didn't much concern himself with finding out. _

_The campaign had lasted months, it had been frightening, bloody and fatal to many of his comrades, but Harry had survived; that was not exactly an impressive achievement, due to his inability to die, but considering the sheer number of battles he had fought in, it certainly impressed his superiors. They were apparently impressed enough that he got promoted to Flight Lieutenant on August of 1940. _

_He had since been part of several other battles, the last of which had seen him shot down and 'miraculously' live._

* * *

**December 1940 – London **

A group of three officials walked into the room he had been led to just a few moments ago. Harry wasted no time in standing at attention and respectfully saluting them, they were after all his superiors by rank.

"At ease, Flight Lieutenant" said the most senior officer in serious though not unkind tone.

Air Marshal John Bennett, said senior officer, was a no-nonsense sort of man, the kind of man no one wanted to mess with regardless of rank. He was apparently from a military family and had dedicated most of his life to the RAF, rising through the ranks until he found himself in his current position. He was very good at tactics and strategy, but he still remembered what it was like to be on the field enough that he cared about the men he sent out there. For this, Harry respected the man.

"Sir" The wizard offered instead as way of greeting, along with a respectful nod.

"You must be wondering why I had you brought here, Evans. As I am a very busy man, and I'm sure you have other things to be doing with your time, I shall go straight to the point." As he spoke, the Air Marshal's grayish blue eyes seemed to pin Harry down in place, never even blinking as far as he could tell.

Finally, the man seemed to finish with apparently trying to intimidate Harry (it didn't really work, he had seen much more frightening things in his life) and continued talking.

"We know what you are."

* * *

**13****th**** January 1941 – Somewhere over Cardiff**

After the scare that had been the meeting with the Air Marshal and two Air Commodores, Harry had found himself back in the air and with a new mission…and a new rank. It had turned out that yes, the RAF higher-ups definitely knew that he was a wizard, and that he had hidden this fact from them for personal reasons. To be honest Harry had been surprised that they even knew what a wizard was, but once he thought about it, he really shouldn't have been…wizards weren't all that good at blending in with a muggle crowd. Not just that, but a certain groups of radicals under the command of Gellert Grindelwald were making a lot of noise in the continent, getting themselves noticed.

It was actually because of them that Harry's senior officers had called him. Grindelwald and his followers were helping the Germans in the War, hiding their camps and the like under wards, aiding during the raids, helping to infiltrate the country and all in all making themselves a thorn in the side for the British. Harry was apparently the only wizard they knew of within the military and as such, the only one who could detect their traps and hidden camps. He had been given his own squadron, being promoted to Squadron Leader at the time, and ordered to take out as many of these enemy camps within their land as he could.

It wasn't an easy job, no one else in the squadron could see past the wards and notice-me-not charms, so they had to fly in blind and simply follow his lead; fly to where he flew and shoot whatever he shot at. It was hard and confusing and Harry had already lost planes and people, but it was a job that needed to be done and no one else could do it. Occasionally they were unknowingly helped by British Aurors, who went after the foreign Dark Wizards whenever they discovered them, usually during or after an attack; Aurors, however, had absolutely no idea what to do about things like machine guns and planes, which they left pretty much alone, and so Harry's job also included cleaning up after the either caught or killed Dark Wizards.

And it was not only that, they also occasionally had to respond to emergencies and fight in more conventional battles whenever their support was needed.

Such as now.

The chaos of battle was by now familiar to Harry, so he didn't allow himself to be distracted from his target. The German bomber he was trying to bring down was even now firing at an ally pilot, from the 133 Squadron from what he could see, and Harry was not willing to allow such a thing on his watch. He stealthily came from the side and carefully targeted the bomber's blind spot before finally pushing the button and letting the machine guns on his plane open fire against the enemy. He took the rear gunner out first, damaging the bomber in the way, before more safely shooting the pilot and finally bringing the plane down.

He flew his Spitfire next to the previously fleeing ally, turning to see if the other pilot was hurt or his plane damaged. The other man saw him and offered a thumbs-up. Harry took that to mean that he was alright and could keep fighting; he returned the gesture along with a friendly nod and then returned to the battle, trying to bring down as many of the bombers as he could.

* * *

**Later that same day**

When the last of their enemy had finally retreated or been shot down, Harry and his squadron followed the others back to base, their planes needed refueling and were too far away to make it back to their hidden camp. They would spend the night with their brothers-in-arms and fly back tomorrow morning.

Harry was just jumping down from his plane when he was approached by a group of pilots he had never met, led by a man Harry found familiar. He was rather tall, with short black hair and light brown eyes, a handsome man, Harry supposed.

It took the wizard about a minute of staring to realize that said man was the pilot he had just recently helped, the one who was being chased by a relentless bomber before Harry intervened, the man he'd probably saved. He gave the man and his companions a curious glance before finally offering a friendly nod in greeting.

The familiar man walked a bit ahead of his group, came to Harry and offered his hand.

"Captain Jack Harkness." He said, his accent immediately identifying him as an American, introducing himself with a smile and firm handshake. "I appreciate the help back there."

"Squadron Leader Harrison Evans, sir. It was no problem." Harry answered, adding in the 'sir' as the man's rank was higher than Harry's own.

The Captain nodded, still smiling rather cheerfully. "Still, you must let me repay you. My men brought some whiskey I'm very sure they would not mind sharing with you."

Harry paused a moment to consider this. On one hand, it had been a rather long time since he had had a moment to rest and have a drink and he was technically off-duty until tomorrow morning; on the other hand, he didn't want to leave his men to go off drinking with a bunch of Americans, especially as he would be flying in the morning.

The moment of indecision was broken when Jeremy Price, Harry's second- in-command called out all the way from his own plane, having just touched down.

"Go on, sir, I'll make sure the boys are taken care of for the night." The younger man offered.

Harry made a mental note to get Jeremy something nice for Christmas, if he was still alive by then, and finally allowed himself to be convinced. He gave an amused chuckle before turning back to the friendly Americans.

"You heard the man, you may lead the way Captain."

Well, best enjoy the simple pleasure in life whenever he could, before he and his men were called back to the line of duty.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And we get to see a bit more of Harry's past and also a bit more of action for our brave pilot. Also, I'm aware that Jack Harkness should introduce himself as _Group_ Captain Jack Harkness, since that's what the RAF rank is called and he is currently serving with them, but I decided to respect the way he introduced himself in Torchwood…I hope I did the right thing there.

Another thing, please forgive any and all historical errors I might have made here, I've been reading up on WWII since I started this story but other than that and what little (_very_ little indeed) I learned of it back in school does not make me an expert by any stretch of the imagination. If I've made an error, I am very, very sorry but please point it out to me and I'll make the necessary corrections.


	3. First Impressions

**Walk In Eternity**

**Chapter Three:**First Impressions

**By** BlackBlade

**Disclaimer:** I do _NOT_, and sadly probably never will, own Harry Potter, Torchwood or Doctor Who, nor am I profiting in any way shape or form from this _entirely fictional_ story involving the characters in the aforementioned Book/Series. Thank you.

**Summary:** Even after the War with Voldemort was over and done with, everyone had lost, everything Harry knew and loved had been destroyed and so he resorts to a very complicated and dangerous bit of magic in order to save the world. He goes back in time, trying to prevent the whole War from ever happening. Of course, after everything is done and over with, he is still stuck in the past with no way back and who should he meet there but a certain Captain Jack Harkness?

1111111111111111111111111111 1111111111111111111111111111 11111111111111111

**18****th**** January 1941 – London**

After their battle in Cardiff, Harry's squadron had made it back to London for some time off – a couple days of leave, which might not be much but for tired soldiers, it was a blessing. It really wasn't surprising to find most of them – along with just about any other soldier on leave – at a bar. There was music, there were women and there was alcohol and Harry had long since come to understand that, where there were at least two out of these three, there would be men looking for a good time as well.

Personally, he was there mostly for the drinks.

He was drinking – a nice, amber-colored liquid he could almost pretend was firewhiskey, if he didn't know better – and chatting with his men, all of them roaring in laughter at just about every joke. They were trying to live, all of them, live and laugh and love while they could, because they had all already seen what waited out there, outside the comfortable bubble of pretended safety, and they wanted to forget.

Harry wished them all good luck, even if he knew that, those who did survive would probably carry the scars of this war for the rest of their lives. He knew he would.

He noticed his glass had somehow been emptied – and it might be possible that it was him who emptied it, because he had probably drank enough not to notice when he drank more – and decided to remedy that as soon as possible.

He was already at the bar, having just ordered another whiskey, when he remembered his current lack of funds. It really wasn't that he didn't have any money – he did have a little bit of it stashed away for emergencies – it was simply that he knew better than to take it all with him to a bar. Gods above knew that once he got into a sulking mood he could really drink his weight in liquor – which really wasn't all that much, if you considered the fact that he'd always been, and now would probably always be, a bit too much on the lean side – and no good ever came of having a drunk, sulking wizard loose in the middle of a war.

"Ah…" He started awkwardly as the ordered drink was placed in front of him.

It must have been a bit too obvious what kind of predicament he was in because it took about five seconds for a crumpled note to suddenly drop right next to the glass. Harry blinked and then looked up.

There was a man there – another soldier of course, hardly anyone else went out at night these days – smiling the single most charming smile Harry had ever seen on a man. He blinked again.

"I'll get that for you." The man said, still smiling like a bloody model on one of those gossip magazines Harry knew his aunt Petunia secretly read. It was a nice smile though, so he answered with one of his own.

"Thank you." He said sincerely and just slightly embarrassed at having to have someone else pay for his booze.

The man's smile became wider and his light blue eyes shone with something a bit like cheerfulness but not as they traveled down and then back up Harry's form, measuring him. It would have made almost anyone uncomfortable, but Harry had really been though way too much real discomfort to be undone by some man staring oddly at him.

"It's my _pleasure_." The blue-eyed man practically purred at the end. Harry actually raised an eyebrow in amazed curiosity…Was he being hit on? He really wasn't sure because it did sound a lot like it, but he'd so far never even heard of one bloke hitting on another one in this bloody time period. Good luck he wasn't from this time then, or he might have been a bit too lost.

Now what to do about the flirty soldier? At that point, it might have been the whiskey talking, but Harry figured there was no harm in flirting back. It felt a bit like playing with fire and he had always been a bit of a thrill-seeker.

"Thanks." He said, his expression going from a sheepish grin to an 'I might be interested' smile. He made a point of returning the earlier measuring stare with one of his own, purposefully checking out the charming stranger with slightly mischievous eyes. To be honest, it made him feel young again, which was always nice. "Harrison Evans, _pleased_ to meet you." He made sure to add an extra bit of huskiness to his tone then, and was rewarded with an even wider charming grin.

The man offered his hand, blue eyes firmly set on Harry's green ones as he proceeded to introduce himself. "Captain Jack Harkness, pleasure's all mutual…I guarantee it." He said, but Harry didn't hear the obvious innuendo or even the words after the name.

Instantly, whatever haze had been brought about by the alcohol he'd been consuming most of the night vanished, his eyes cleared of any and all flirtation as they narrowed on the other man, who was understandably taken by surprise at the sudden hostile looks he was now getting from his might-have-been-_something_.

"No, you're not." The wizard said, his attention entirely focused on the man as he tried to conceal a wince before becoming the very picture of innocence, all wide-eyed confusion and polite smiles.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about but I assure you…" Harry didn't let him finish. He grabbed the man by his – probably stolen – coat and forcefully dragged him to a corner of the room. To be perfectly fair, the man's distinct lack of struggling was probably a key factor in Harry, with his smaller build, being able to do so.

"I _know _Captain Jack Harkness, he's a friend, and you're _not_ him."

He could see it the moment the man decided to give up the pretense, something in his eyes seemed to harden, suddenly losing the false innocence and charm. And Harry knew then that he would have to be careful now, because he'd – literally – cornered this man and Harry knew well enough that cornered men often reacted as cornered animals, if the situation was dire enough. Oh, it wasn't like the man could kill him or anything, but he would really much rather avoid a bar fight that would most likely end with an official reprimand…he hated official things of just about every kind, reprimands were about at the top of his list.

The man, fortunately, didn't start throwing punches…yet.

"Look…" The stranger started, his voice lacking all hints of flirtation now. "I'm not trying to hurt you or anyone else, I just want to get out of this place, alright? Now, I'm not sure how much you've had tonight but obviously…" But whatever the false Captain was going to say – and Harry had the suspicion that it would be something that would only anger him further – it got lost in the ear-piercing sound of an air raid siren.

Instantly, every single occupant of the bar tensed. The siren was something most of them heard in their nightmares, and no one had the slightest desire of hearing it in the waking world as well. Still, duty and all that.

Harry let go of the man-who-wasn't-Jack-Harkness, his attention now completely taken by the sound coming from the outside. It took him all of three seconds to start making his way to the front door. He was the first to do so, but soon enough others had joined him, running out of the building and into the streets, some directing frightened civilians to the nearest shelter, some running back to their posts and some simply bracing themselves for what they knew was to come.

The bombs fell.

They whistled through the air and then shattered stone, wood and bone, anything in the path of their explosion. Debris rained down alongside the bombs, covering anyone still outside with dust and ashes and blood. It was chaos, terrible and frightening, and just the kind of thing Harry was used to.

Oh, he didn't thrive in it – far from it, he absolutely hated it – but he was used to it, nonetheless. He'd been born during a war and then fought in another during most of his teen years and straight into his adult life, and then of course he'd gone and got himself involved in bloody World War Two. Sometimes he was masochistic like that.

"I need help here!" He shouted out, his voice most likely unheard amidst the sounds of the hellish night, but he had to try at least. Without waiting for response or aid, which he wasn't sure would come anyways, he ran to a partially demolished building, part of which he'd just seen fall on fleeing people. They might be dead already, but they might not be, and that possibility was enough to warrant an attempted rescue by Harry's books – not like he was risking his life for them, after all.

He started to move pieces of wood, stone and glass away, using part of a broken wooden beam as makeshift shovel to at least try to keep his hand in one piece this time – the doctor back at base had a thing or two to say about Harry's disregard for his health. The sudden appearance of another wooden-beam-made-shovel startled him for a moment, but it was the sight of the blue-eyed man from the bar, using said beam to help dig out either survivors or bodies, that really took him by surprise.

He had thought the impersonator would have made his escape the second Harry left. Apparently he wasn't as good judge of character as he'd thought. He offered the man a single nod of acknowledgement, and perhaps gratitude as well, and kept on working.

The bombing lasted all of fifteen minutes, if that, but it made for a long, dark night; the wounded were many, the dead just slightly less. Digging people out of the rubble – as Harry had chosen to be his job for the night – was hard and exhausting work, usually rewarded with another dead body to add to an ever-growing pile followed by another hill of rubble to work on. Every once in a while – not often, not often at all, but some rare and precious times – he was also rewarded with relieved eyes looking back at him, an alive if hurt person who might have died if he hadn't been there.

Harry lived for moment like those, for some little reminder that he might still be of some good for someone in the world, that his continued – forced – existence could mean something.

They worked all through the night, together. 'Jack' – he had no other name to call him and no desire to refer to him as 'hey you!' – had insisted several times that Harry should rest before he dropped dead of exhaustion. 'Jack' didn't know any better, of course, and Harry didn't listen, of course.

By the time dawn was breaking and most of the emergency work had been done, Harry did feel like he was about to drop dead, and he and 'Jack' stumbled together – leaning on each other even though the other was just as tired and unstable on his feet as themselves – to the nearest barracks where they proceeded to throw themselves into what might have been a bed and promptly fall into deep, though obviously troubled, sleep.

Sometimes the greatest friendships are those forged during the worst of times.

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**Author's Notes:** Congratulations to those of you who guessed that last chapter Harry actually met the _original, _20th Century native, Captain Jack Harkness; and now he's finally met our other dear Captain Jack. I thought about making this chapter a bit longer, to be honest, but then I realized that Harry and Jack actually, properly introducing themselves to the other would have to have some humor and it just didn't match with the mood in this chapter so we'll leave that for the next one, eh?

A great bit thank you to all the lovely people who take the time to review, I love reading said reviews and they make my day better, so please keep them coming!


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